


Why Did I Make This Call?

by theonewiththeredhood



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cutting, Funeral, Hurt Castiel, M/M, Self-Harm, Suicide, This is Bad, it's also old, oh well, whoops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-05 22:58:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1099571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theonewiththeredhood/pseuds/theonewiththeredhood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel cuts himself, and for some reason, he decides to call his crush Dean.  Of all the things to do before you go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Why Did I Make This Call?

**Author's Note:**

> Definitely not beta'd. All mistakes are my mistakes.

Gritting his teeth against the pain, Castiel brought the knife down across his arm over and over again.  His eyes burned with unshed tears.  He was numb, but obviously not numb enough.  He could still feel this.  He could still fucking feel the metal as it dug into his skin and right then, nothing else mattered.  Just the methodical slice, slice, slice of the fragment of metal from a pair of broken scissors.

He blinked, and the tears leaked from the corners of his eyes down his cheeks.  He swallowed against the tightness in his throat, but it did no good.  He let out a soft little whimper, closing his eyes so he couldn’t see the blood as it began to run down his wrist, ugly and red.

It was ten minutes of consistent bleeding before Castiel started to panic.  His breath came in gasps as he ran to the bathroom across the hall, grabbing his black towel to wrap around his bleeding arm before racing back to his room.  Luckily, none of his brothers noticed.

It was only then that he remembered that stranger from school, a boy who’d walked in on him cutting himself in the abandoned boy’s bathroom in the basement of his high school.  The stranger had given him his number.  Castiel scrambled for it now, tearing his room apart one-handedly as he looked for the scrap of paper with the number.

He found it in a pair of old jeans, the paper crumpled and the ink faded.  He got out his phone and called the number.  When the kid picked up, his name graced Castiel’s mind.

Castiel’s voice was tight when he said it, “Dean.”

Dean tensed from where he sat on his own bed, dressed only in pajama pants.  He knew that voice.  Who was that kid?  “Cas.  Are you all right?  You… you don’t sound all right.”

Castiel let out a choked laugh.  “What is ‘all right?’  I don’t think I’ve ever been ‘all right.’”

Dean pressed his lips into a firm line.  “What’s wrong, Cas?”

Castiel vaguely felt the ache in his arm.  “It won’t stop, Dean.  I—I cut, and it won’t stop.”

Dean was standing and pulling on a shirt and shoes within the minute.  “How long’s it been?  How many are there?  How do you feel?  Don’t you dare hang up, you hear me?”  Dean wasn’t sure why he’d given the kid his number, probably just because he felt bad for him.  Castiel’s death wouldn’t be on him.  It wouldn’t be his fault.

Castiel groaned, laying back in his bed.  “I—I dunno.  A while.  I cut… uh… I cut a lot.  I feel…  I dunno.  I still want more, Dean.  Can I cut while I wait?  I think I’m gonna—”

Dean was slipping the Impala’s keys from his dad’s jacket pocket and slipping out of the house.  “No!” he hissed, “no!  You can’t cut anymore, you hear me?”

Castiel sighed, “yeah, yeah, fine, but I want to.”

Dean scowled, “well, I don’t give a shit that you want to, you’re not.”

Castiel gave a short whine, “why?”

Dean started the car before realizing he had no idea where he was going.  “Cas, what’s your address?”

Castiel’s brows furrowed.  “What?”

Dean sighed, “what’s your address?”

Castiel relayed his address slowly; he had trouble remembering the numbers.

Dean sped off in the direction of Castiel’s house, hoping he’d get there in time to do some good.  Castiel sounded like he was bleeding pretty good if the tired sound of his voice was any indication.

Castiel was practically half-asleep by the time Dean got there, murmuring nonsense into the receiver as Dean kept prompting him to ‘keep talking, Cas.  You gotta keep talking.’

Dean had trouble getting into the home, Michael not wanting to let him pass until Dean finally just pushed him aside and rushed up the stairs.  He wasn’t sure why he thought Castiel’s room was upstairs; he just did.

Dean burst into Castiel’s room to find Cas laying on his bed looking pale and sickly.

"Dean?"  he murmured, looking over at the doorway.

Dean surged forward immediately, “fuck, Cas.  You should’ve called a damn ambulance.”

Castiel gave Dean a small smile as the older teen came closer.  “Nah, Dean, I’m fine.  I feel better than ever.”

Dean’s eyes widened.  Fuck.  No.  “No.  Nonononononono.  I’m gonna call an ambulance, all right, a—and you’ll be fine, just fine.”

Castiel gave Dean a small smile, reaching up to frame the brunet’s face with one hand.  “You have such pretty eyes,” he murmured.

Dean offered Castiel a small smile, dialing 911 into his phone.  “Yours aren’t half bad either.”

Castiel’s smile grew and his eyelids drew closed.

"No, Cas, stay awake for me."

_911 what is your emergency?_

_It’s Cas—he’s—he’s—_

Castiel’s breathing slowed.

_Sir, what’s happening?  Where are you?  Please calm down._

Dean frantically relayed Castiel’s address; Castiel slowly withdrew his hand from Dean’s face.

_What’s happening?_

_He’s—he’s dying.  Fuck, he’s tried to kill himself.  Send an ambulance, quick.  Please, you gotta help him._

_An ambulance is on its way.  
_

_Thank you, oh, thank you.  
_

During the funeral, it rained.


End file.
